


Helpmeet

by BluePeople



Category: The Scarlet Pimpernel
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-20
Updated: 2010-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-13 21:06:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/141725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BluePeople/pseuds/BluePeople
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-book, Percy and Marguerite discuss the future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Helpmeet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hungrytiger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hungrytiger/gifts).



> At the very end of the book Percy and Marguerite said a lot of very sweet things to each other, but I’m wondering how everything is going to play out given that Percy is obsessed with his mission and Marguerite, a woman very used to taking matters into her own hands and getting what she wants, is worried for him.
> 
> (It’s been so long since I’ve read the sequels that I’m basing this solely on the first book. This takes place immediately after the end.)

 

Upon his return to Blakeney Manor, Sir Percy promptly shut himself up in his room and would see nobody except a doctor. All others were turned away with courtesy and apologies, and the news that Sir Percy would not be available for any kind of interview for at least two or three days.

Within a few hours, however, Marguerite reached a decision – perhaps impulsive – that she could not, _should_ not, wait that long. Percy was her husband, and in his hour of need she should be by his side. Resolved to reach his side by any means necessary, the proud Lady Blakeney found herself creeping through her own house like a criminal, in the dark, late at night when the vigilance of Percy’s guards would be at its lowest.

She wore no shoes so that her steps would be silent, and only a nightgown because it would be impossible to explain herself if she were noticed wandering the halls fully dressed in the middle of the night.

She slipped past his snoring attendant, hardly daring to breathe, and gained the bedroom.

Once she was safely within, she breathed a sigh of relief and padded across the floor, approaching the bed, and had just reached out to shake him awake when the thought struck her that perhaps disturbing her husband while he rested would do no good for his health. It might even do harm.

It would be better, she reflected, to wait until he came awake on his own. She would stay here and keep vigil, and be nearby to greet him when he arose, like the faithful and devoted companion she now wanted to be.

The idea of such a romantic gesture appealed to her, and she settled down in a chair to wait.

Minutes passed into hours, though, and once she was all finished planning out what she would say on Percy’s awakening, she began to grow restless. If only there were something more she could _do_ for him! Standing by helplessly while a loved one suffered had never been a skill Marguerite possessed or tried to cultivate. Why, the time Armand had been beaten, she had tended his wounds with her own hands, and nursed him to health all by herself!

That miserable, harrowing week had been burnt indelibly into Marguerite’s memory, and the mere mention of it in her thoughts brought it back to wash over her. She sat back in her chair, closed her eyes and remembered…

***********************************************************************

The door opened after a sharp peremptory knock – and before she had even called permission for the visitor to come in. Marguerite gasped, but relaxed when she recognized the intruder as one of the few friends whose presence she would tolerate at such a difficult time: Chauvelin.

“No one has seen hide nor hair of you for two days, Marguerite,” Chauvelin said. “We are beginning to worry.”

“You’ll forgive me if I have more on my mind just now than rallies and parties,” she answered coldly. “Doubtless you’ve heard what has happened to my brother.” Her hand moved a little more feverishly in his hair.

“Our friends talk of nothing else. How is he?”

“He is-... still recovering,” she said at last. “And he needs his sleep. If I ask you to return at another time…?”

He stiffened and ducked his head – the remnants of a bow, perhaps, an instinct he was trying now to suppress. “Of course. If there is anything I can do – for your brother, or for you – you have only to ask.”

She nodded but made no answer, already busy stroking the sweat-soaked hair from Armand’s brow. Chauvelin hovered a moment longer, not quite daring to step over the threshold uninvited, and at last turned and left.

Hardly had the door closed behind him, than Armand’s eyes were opening and his lips twitching into a smile. “Promise me one thing, Margot,” he murmured.

“Oh- I’m so sorry he woke you!” she exclaimed. “We should never have given him a key. Promise you what, dear?”

“Chauvelin is a good friend and has done much for our cause. I can’t fault his wits or his zeal. But Margot…”

“But what?” she pressed, when Armand reverted to smiling instead of finishing his sentence.

“But promise me that when I lose you to a husband, when that sad day comes… promise me it will be to somebody more handsome than Chauvelin.”

Her blue eyes widened and her cheeks heated with a blush. “Why- Armand! What a thing to say!” she huffed, and reached for a cool cloth. “Clearly this fever has cooked your brains. Lose me to Chauvelin – how ridiculous.”

“He dotes on you.”

“Everybody dotes on us; I daresay we’re Paris’s favorite orphans these days. Please don’t be silly. As if I would leave you – and for him! How many times must I tell you, there’s nobody I will love better than you in all the world. Hush now, and go back to sleep.”

***************************************************

Thinking of that time with Armand, of tenderness freely given and accepted, Marguerite came out of her reverie with an audible sigh, and the noise caused her husband to shift a little in his bed. She brought a hand to her mouth and resolved to be more careful.

But it was too late; suddenly the peace in the room was shattered as Sir Percy started awake with a choking gasp. He clutched the covers about him and sat up, flailing and graceless.

“Hush, hush, it is only your wife,” she soothed quickly, standing up out of her chair. He flinched again, still half-asleep, and she did not come any closer. “Percy?” she asked, settling down again. “Are you all right?”

He came fully conscious; he passed a hand over his face and, that quickly, found his manners. “Lud but I am an ogre so early in the morning,” he laughed lightly. “Please forgive me. You frightened me, m’dear!”

When he began to rise, she gasped a protest and insisted that he remain in bed.

He hesitated only a moment before settling back down against his pillows. “As my lady commands,” he said, and waited a moment for Marguerite to speak. When she did not, he prompted: “Now, to what do I owe the honor of your visit? I trust nothing is wrong?”

She swallowed. “Percy, I am your wife.”

He gave no sign of having taken the slightest meaning from that; he only smiled and agreed, “Aye, most certainly.”

“I need to be here by your side,” she persisted. “Or at least… at least tell me: are you ill? I have been half-mad with worry and I have a right to know.”

“I beg you not to concern yourself about me.” He sat up straighter, wincing only a little. “I am not ill, only sore and demmed exhausted, and I am assured that I’ll soon be in the pink of health again. I hid myself away precisely to spare you worry.” His face softened a fraction at her obvious distress, and he smiled at her. “Marguerite, please. I beg you not to shame me with too much fussing.”

“Too much?” she cried, suddenly. She had planned to be soothing and controlled, but at the sight of her beloved so wan and weak she was becoming too agitated to contain herself. “Percy! If I were to lose you…”

“There’s no chance of that, m’dear,” he said. “Certainly not so soon after we have just found one another again.” For just a moment, she fancied that passion flashed in his eyes… but then she wondered if perhaps the poor light and her own feverish hopes had made her imagine it. Certainly his smile was as easy and blank as ever.

With a violent effort she forced herself to pause and to calm down. She nodded, and locked her fingers together in her lap, and when she felt ready to speak steadily she said: “Then, you will stop this madness? No more suicidal trips to France?”

He only let out a short sigh.

“You knew I would ask,” she pressed.

“And you know I must refuse,” he answered gently. “It is not suicide; I am sure I run fewer risks than you are imagining… and more importantly, the Scarlet Pimpernel is, alas, still needed.”

A look of obstinance had come over his face and she felt certain now that this was a battle she was destined to lose, but still she would fight him for every inch. He would not, _could_ not be so inflexible once she managed to upset him. “Needed by _me_ , my love,” she whispered, as wrenchingly as she could. “Percy… if harm were to come to you my heart would be broken. You must think of that – think of me. Stay by my side.”

Her years at the theater stood her in good stead; Sir Percy could not quite cope with the tears that glistened in her eyes. He retreated behind his mask. “Lud love you, dear, you don’t want me clinging to you like a barnacle! I warrant you’d soon find it boring as well as unseemly.”

She judged it worthwhile to press her advantage. “Percy,” she pleaded, and held his gaze until he swallowed uncomfortably.

“You merit more than just a lovesick husband,” he said, still apparently uncertain about how best to treat with her. Now he was kind and almost earnest. “It is a hero who has stolen your heart, and only a hero who can keep it.”

The characterization was not flattering, perhaps, but Marguerite could see its truth after only a moment of reflection. “Perhaps. But still I cannot, I _cannot_ simply sit by while you risk yourself time and again,” she insisted. She drew herself up. “And I should not. A hero merits more than such a woman.”

Protests and gallantries rose immediately to Percy’s lips but she stopped him by raising one small white hand. She let the silence linger just a moment, then said: “I will become part of your band.”

“Dear lady, that is absolutely of the question,” he said with finality. “The activities of the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel are not at all fit for members of the fairer sex.”

“They are not fit for lazy English gentlemen, either, and yet....”

“We _lazy English gentlemen_ are sportsmen, madam, and the thrill of the chase is in our blood,” he said a little stiffly. “The excitement fuels us - and good thing,” he added with significance, “As the danger run by the league members is immense.”

“How curious! For I understood that the risks are _fewer_ than I imagine,” she recited, smiling to have trapped him. While he searched for words she pressed forward again, the idea appealing more and more to her as she explained it. “France is my country. I would like to help her - and to atone for that tragedy I brought, however unwittingly, on St. Cyr and his family. And do you think I am a stranger to subterfuge and misdirection? Ha! I am an actress by trade, remember. I am sharp-witted, I am charming, and… though I shudder to boast of this… Percy, I succeeded in the space of one evening where all of England and all of France have failed for months. If there is anyone – _anyone_ – who could be of service to you… it is me.”

Sir Percy bowed his head; clearly he could make no logical answer to this, but nevertheless: “Marguerite, I cannot see you endangered. I could never.”

The emotion in his voice dampened her sense of triumph; it hurt her now to see him ache. “Percy,” she whispered again, only this time there was no artifice in it. She rose from her chair and came to him, and at his gesture sat on the edge of his bed.

“You may have the right of it, of everything,” he said quietly, “But nevertheless, I could never gamble your life as I do my own. All of my men would agree.”

Just as she was about to concede defeat, to bow over his lap and kiss his hands, and promise never to worry him so that the line of tension disappeared from between his eyes… just then, he sighed and reached forward to cup her face.

“On the other hand,” he murmured, and she could swear she heard a smile in his voice, “I would have to be an even bigger fool than I am not to acknowledge your talent for intrigue, little woman.” He spoke quietly, thoughtfully, almost with regret. “It may be betimes you can help us – here. Where you are safe.”

“Oh, Percy!” She forgot, in her excitement, about his wounded shoulders, and she threw her arms around his neck.

Sir Percy of course would do nothing other than return the embrace, but a short hiss of pain reminded her of his condition and she drew back, contrite.

“You should be resting, my love,” she whispered, and tried to coax him to lie flat.

“If you only knew the strength your beauty brings me,” he murmured. “I could move mountains… take on the whole of France myself… I could do anything – _anything -…_ save rest.”

The urge came over her to move closer to him and test the extent of this _anything,_ but on second thought she knew it would do no good for his health to exert himself now. And, now that she had professed a desire to join the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel, Percy would hardly approve of her jeopardizing the recovery of its leader!

She realized it was likely that in her husband's eyes she, too, now had a duty. And she would not fail him.

“Rest,” she whispered, and only bent to kiss his hands.

*************************************************************

The End.

Happy Yuletide; hope you enjoyed!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
